


Space Heater

by KesSkirata



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Competence Kink, Cute Kids, DEA disaster husbands, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, Multi, OT3, Slice of Life, Soft Javier Peña, Stavier - Freeform, Threesome - F/M/M, Thruple, dad!Javi, la quica - Freeform, mustache boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KesSkirata/pseuds/KesSkirata
Summary: Or, Steve puts everyone back to bed.
Relationships: Connie Murphy/Javier Peña, Connie Murphy/Steve Murphy (Narcos), Connie Murphy/Steve Murphy/Javier Peña, Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Space Heater

**Author's Note:**

> This is deliciously self-indulgent angsty hurt/comfort Stavier + Connie. They are my comfort thruple OT3.  
> Don’t look at me

A bullet rips over Steve Murphy’s head and he ducks instinctively, firing blindly behind him as he tries to usher his family to safety. The pavement bites into his feet and he curses whatever luck caused him to blindly throw on Javier’s too tight pants instead of his own comfortable sweats.

“Where are the kids?” Connie is screaming as she runs up the steps to the front door. She’s wearing one of Javi’s button ups, hastily done, and she’s barefoot like the rest of them.

“Just go!” Javier yells at her, tripping on Steve’s sweatpants as he begins his own climb to safety. They’re too long, but he’ll steal them every chance he gets, even though Connie teases him for it. 

Javi grabs his arm, pulling Steve up the stairs and behind him, his gun barking as the sicarios close in. Javi’s bare torso is protecting Steve’s, and it makes him feel hot and cold in equal measures.

Steve is frantic now, his own sidearm warm from firing continuously. Everywhere he looks he sees guns firing at him. So many sicarios. No sirens, no SearchBloc, no warnings over their radios or phones. _Where are the fucking cops? Where is the backup? Why does this feel so wrong?_

A bullet breaks a window overhead and Connie screams, the sound driving a sharp wedge of fear deep into Steve’s stomach. Escobar must be truly desperate to come after the Americans in such a blatant display of force. The knowledge that the USA will avenge Steve and Javi’s deaths does nothing for the overwhelming panic in his chest.

Connie reaches the door, fumbling with the lock, sobbing under her breath. Then Steve hears a wet thud, a grunt behind him. Dread twists his stomach as he turns, knowing what he’ll find.

“Javi!” The word rips from his throat, he’s screaming as he stumbles back down the stairs to where his partner lies bleeding. He grabs him under his armpits to try to drag him to safety and Javier screams, his face crumpling in pain. Steve drops him back to the concrete, trying to apply pressure but there’s so much blood. 

“Go,” Javi groans, bringing his gun up. “I’ll cover you.” He’s coughing up blood now, breathing in short, choked off gasps.

“I’m not leaving you, Peña,” Steve grunts, trying again to lift him. “Connie, come help me, Javi’s hit! Connie!” There’s no answer. “Connie!” He turns.

All the air leaves Steve’s body. Connie’s leaning against the unlocked door, her eyes open and empty. Javi’s shirt is soaked with her blood and her hair is red with it. She doesn’t move when he screams her name.

“Go… kids…” it’s Javi again, feebly trying to push him up the stairs, but Steve is frozen. There’s a pinch on his side and he smacks Javi’s hand away, but the pain spreads in a hot wave through his abdomen. He barely feels his knees hit the concrete stairs. 

Steve hears footsteps behind him, and he turns, trying to lift his gun but it’s suddenly so heavy. Escobar himself is standing there, Poison and La Quica flanking him, nameless sicarios surrounding them. Steve shakes his head, trying to clear it. 

“Wait,” he whispers. _This isn’t how it happens._

Escobar smiles. He raises his gun and shoots Javier Peña in the head. 

“Jav!” Steve lurches forward, reaching for Javier. He isn’t strong enough to scream the way he wants to. Tears of pain and rage drip down his cheeks. 

“You couldn’t save any of them,” Escobar growls, turning the gun on him. Steve feels his knees slipping, he’s falling heavily on his side against the bloodsoaked stairs. His gun drops from his nerveless fingers. He manages to look up, look Escobar in the eyes.

“Go to hell,” he grits out through the pain. Escobar’s lips twitch.

“Say goodbye, Agent Murphy.” The gun goes off and Escobar’s eyes swallow him whole.

***

Steve Murphy jerks awake, gasping for breath, heart racing. Everything’s wrong. The room is wrong, the empty bed is wrong, he’s cold. He hasn’t had a nightmare like this in months.

The sheets twist around his legs as he scrambles across the too-large bed for the gun on the nightstand. The cold steel in his hand steadies him, lets him breathe deeply. Steve lays back against the sheets and closes his eyes, trying to pull himself back into reality.

 _Escobar is dead. He saw the body himself. He’s been dead for two years_ . Another deep breath. _This isn’t his and Connie’s small apartment in Bogota. This is his family’s home._ Deep breath. _He’s safe. They’re all safe and Escobar is dead._

Steve opens his eyes and puts the gun back on the nightstand. He untwists the sheets from around his long legs and stretches. The TV light is flickering in the living room. It’s not like Connie to leave the bed empty.

Steve goes to the nursery first, just across the hall from the master. His son’s pastel blue crib is empty, the rocking chair unoccupied. A soft smile crosses his face. Connie had insisted on light blue everything, even to the point of garishness. Steve never could say no to her. She always gets what she wants, one way or another. 

He finds her in Olivia’s bed, stretched out on top of the coverlet, shivering in her sleep. Olivia’s book of fairytales is resting on her chest. Steve stoops, picking her up, letting the book fall to the floor. Her body is fuller now, still lush with the pregnancy weight. Connie complains about how slowly it's coming off, but Steve loves her like this. She’s soft and warm and his, the mother of their children. Her head rolls to rest against his shoulder and she smiles at him sleepily. 

Relief washes over him in a rush. The fear from his nightmares is still burrowed tightly into his chest, the cold dread of seeing her dead, of knowing he failed her. Connie blinks lazily up at him, easing some of the tension coiling inside him. He has to close his eyes against the sharp prick of tears. 

“I’m cold Steve,” she whispers, “Take me to bed.” Connie shivers against his chest as he navigates the hallway, frowning. “You’re cold too baby,” she says softly, snuggling in tighter. “Where’d the space heater go?” Her tired eyes are dancing now. Steve grins down at her as he lays her in their bed. 

“I’ll see if i can find him,” he whispers and she laughs. Steve tucks her into his side of the bed, where the sheets are still warm, pulling them tight the way he does for Olivia. He can’t stop himself from giving her the same gentle forehead kiss he gives the kids at bedtime. Connie snuggles into the pillow, a teasing smile still on her lips.

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“Hurry back,” she calls as he moves quietly into the hallway. Soft snores drift from the living room. Steve smirks as he rounds the corner.

Francisco Jesús Peña Murphy is sleeping on his snoring father’s chest, a tiny blue bundle lying against the broad expanse of Javier Peña’s shoulders. The flickering light of the muted television casts Javier’s profile in sharp relief. His face is softer in sleep, the cares of their difficult job wiped away. Steve’s smirk softens into a smile. His Javi. Their son. Their family. The people he cares most about in the whole world. All safe. 

Steve shakes his head, banishing the last vestiges of his dream. Gently, so gently, he lifts the tiny blue bundle from Javi’s chest, settling him in the crook of his arm. Javi starts awake quietly. A small jump and a blink, but Steve knows his partner’s tells as well as he knows his own body. He knocks Javi’s knee with his own.

“Get up Peña,” he whispers, careful not to wake their sleeping son, “you’re gonna complain all day if you spend the night on the couch.” Javi grunts, annoyed. Steve grimaces, looking down to make sure baby Frankie was still asleep. 

“He need his bottle?” he whispers.

“Nah,” Javi’s voice is gravelly with sleep. “Olivia woke him up crying from a bad dream, I got him a bottle since Connie was with Livi.” Steve runs his fingers through Frankie’s dark curls, inhaling the soft baby scent. 

“Hey,” Javi leans forward and squeezes his thigh, “you alright? You look like shit Murphy.” Steve tries to laugh, but he can’t. His jaw ticks with the effort of holding back tears. 

“Hey,” Javi’s voice is softer now, “bad dream?” Steve doesn’t meet his gaze, shifting the baby in his arms. Javi is eyeing him intently for someone who just woke up. 

“Yeah, bad dream,” he admits, keeping his eyes on his son. Javi still has his hand on his thigh. He thinks if he sees the compassion and understanding in those soft dark eyes he loves so much, it might break him. 

Javier leans back against the couch after a minute, setting the empty baby bottle down on an end table where a bottle of whiskey might have sat a lifetime ago. The pack of smokes appears like magic and Steve’s lips twitch. Old habits die hard.

“Connie’s gonna kill you,” he drawls. Javi chuckles as he lights it.

“I’m not holding him right now, you are,” he says with a pointed look. Javier jerks his head to the side, an invitation to sit. Steve sighs and settles in gingerly, trying to judge a respectful distance between the baby and the lit cigarette.

They sit in silence for a minute, then Javi raises his eyebrows, tilting the cigarette to offer the other man a hit. Steve rolls his eyes, but leans across the couch to take a long drag of Javi’s cigarette, blowing the smoke back in his face. It settles his nerves almost as much as holding the baby does.

“It’s the same damn dream as always,” he says suddenly, the nicotine making him bold. “You and Connie dying. Sometimes it’s Escobar, sometimes it’s someone else.” Javi doesn’t say anything, just offers him the cigarette again, but Steve feels better. It’s better if he talks about it. Javier, of all people, would understand. He swallows hard against the memory of Connie’s empty eyes and Jav bleeding out. 

Steve flicks a look at him the next time he’s offered a smoke, and sees the same dark shadows hiding in his eyes. Javier had had nightmares every night for months after they got together, especially after he’d gotten Connie pregnant. Steve had helped him through his fair share of panic attacks too. This is just him returning the favor. They smoke in silence, feeling each other’s pain.

“Sounds like everyone had bad dreams tonight,” Javier says, crushing out the cigarette butt. Steve looks at him curiously, _Javi’d had a nightmare too_? He scoots closer to Steve, avoiding his eyes, and wraps his arm around him, looking down at their son.

“Except for mi niñito.” The warmth and fondness in Javier’s voice makes Steve’s heart swell. “Paco never has nightmares,” he chuckles, ghosting his arm over Steve’s shoulder to caress the baby’s hair. “Mi ángelito.” 

Steve turns his face, presses a kiss to Javi’s forehead.

“You’re a good dad, Jav,” he says quietly. Steve can feel the flush that spreads across Javi’s face at the praise. “Even if that nickname doesn’t make any sense.” Javier laughs at that. 

“Of course it doesn’t make sense to you, you fucking gringo,” he says smugly, “but it’s correct.” Steve snorts. _Smug bastard._ He turns to tell him as much but Javi catches his lips in a kiss before he can speak. 

The scratch of Javi’s stubble on his face ignites a fire inhis tired body. Steve closes his eyes, losing himself in the taste of the man he loves. Javi bites his lip, making him gasp, and uses that to tangle their tongues together. He pulls his blond hair, tipping his head back, and Steve melts against him. A moment later, quiet mewling pulls Steve back to the present. Frankie is whimpering in his sleep. 

“Fuck, Jav, I’ve still got Frankie,” he whispers, breaking the kiss reluctantly.

“Paco,” Javi corrects him absentmindedly. His fingers are still twisted in Steve's hair, pulling gently. The shadows in his eyes are lighter, disappearing under lust. He pulls him in for a last lingering kiss, only stopping when the baby squirms, trapped between their chests. 

“Burying your nightmares?” Steve asks, panting. His partner grins at him, still smug. Steve leans back against the couch, too high on Javi to care, much. Suddenly he remembers what he came into the living room for. 

“Connie’s cold,” he nudges Javier’s shoulder, “you should go warm her up.” Javi smirks, standing immediately. 

“Of course she’s cold, your skinny ass doesn’t help her any,” he stretches his broad shoulders, putting on a show for Steve. “She says I’m the space heater.”

“Fuck you, Javi,” Steve says good-naturedly. “You like my ass.” Javi winks at him knowingly, running his thumb along his bottom lip. He crosses the living room slowly, swaying his hips as he checks the deadbolt on the door and the Glock on top of the fridge. Steve's throat goes dry, eyes following Javi’s ass as he heads down the hallway to Connie. 

Steve gets up off the couch slowly, joints creaking, trying not to wake Frankie. Of course, the baby starts crying as he’s walking him down the hall. Steve can hear Javier’s deep baritone as he passes the bedroom and Connie’s soft answering laugh. Her voice cuts off with a gasp that rushes to Steve’s groin. The thought of Javi buried deep in his wife’s sweet pussy sent red-hot sparks flying across his skin. He swallows hard when he hears Javier’s answering groan.

Steve manages to get the baby to quiet by swaying back and forth in the nursery. His deep blue eyes stare down at the soft brown ones, silently willing them to close and sleep. Luckily, Frankie isn’t as stubborn as his papa. He lays him down, gently kissing the tiny replica of Connie’s nose. 

“Mi hijo,” Steve whispers, the words foreign on his tongue. But he’s trying. One of these days, he’s going to figure out what exactly it is that Jav says to him in bed that makes Connie laugh until she cries. 

“Daddy?” Olivia is calling to him from her bed. Steve sighs, his hand on his bedroom door and pads back to her room.

“What is it sweetheart,” he says softly. He’s tired now, the adrenaline from his dream and the kisses wearing off. 

“Daddy,” Olivia says again, scrunching up her nose, “agua por favor?” Steve smiles. Her accent is just like Javi’s. 

“Uno momento,” he whispers and she giggles. Steve rolls his eyes as he heads to the kitchen. He knows his accent is atrocious but does Javier really have to point it out to their daughter? He wouldn’t be nearly so smug when it’s time to teach her to shoot. 

Olivia drinks the water fast and snuggles his arm as he strokes her hair, shushing her. Steve doesn’t mind the midnight wake ups. Sure, he rarely wakes up first, but if Connie or Javier kicks him out of bed to handle it, he doesn’t argue. Time spent sitting in the dark quiet with Livi or Frankie is precious. Something he can be grateful for. A future he didn’t think was possible in the darkness of Bogotá, after the fiasco at La Catedral and the emptiness that followed Carrillo’s death. 

He’s seen the same look in Javier’s eyes. The same surprised thankfulness that _this is their life._ That they hadn’t had to choose. That the three of them can share love together. He still can’t imagine living without Javi or Connie. 

Steve drops Olivia’s hand when it goes limp with sleep. He stretches to his full height, knuckles scraping the ceiling, before moving back to the now-silent bedroom.

Connie is snuggled into her pillow again, holding tight to the arm Javi has slung across her waist. Javier is sprawled halfway over her, his face buried in her hair. They’re fast asleep. Steve pulls off his t-shirt, wriggling into bed behind Javi. The other man starts when he presses his cold feet to Javier’s legs. 

“Fuck off Steve.” 

“Damn Jav, Connie was right, you are a space heater,” Steve drawls, pulling him closer. Javi lets himself be dragged halfway across the bed, not letting go of Connie. She protests sleepily but her eyes stay closed. Steve rests his forehead on Javi’s neck, breathing him in. His eyes won’t stay open.

“Love you Jav,” he mumbles, drifting into dreamless darkness. He’s asleep when Javi rolls over, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Te amo, you fucking gringo.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Google says Chucho is a nickname for Jesús, so baby Paco/Frankie’s middle name is a nod to Javier’s dad


End file.
